by Amanda Tru
It worked, too. He made his escape before Brooke could make a comment about how it was too soon after Lena to make a commitment to someone else. Everyone else in the family had driven that point home, and an irrational conviction that if all of them did, it would become a truth formed in his heart. She didn’t want me.
That thought—too pathetic. As he slid behind the wheel, Wayne tried again. Lena’s too set in her ways. Jennie knows how to compromise. We’ll be happy. We are happy. A smile formed. Yeah, that’s much better. Not as pathetic.
Three o’clock came too early that first Monday back. When Wayne pulled up to pick up the van, Ramon stood there, outside the shop, waiting for him. As if that weren’t odd enough, the man rode to Rockland, helped cart flowers, and even helped put them away when they got back. All the while, he talked tango.
“You must find the inner passion—love and hate. They are part of the same emotion. You show both parts—draw her to you. Push her away, but it is not really pushed away. Is just the pretense of it. Do you see?”
Wayne had watched enough tango videos in the past month to know exactly what the man meant. I should be able to manage that part of it just fine.
A corner of his conscience reminded him that he was supposed to be planning to propose to Jennie. The love for another woman shouldn’t be there. Wayne argued back. I’m just concentrating on what was. That’s all.
Despite it all, Wayne had developed a faint hope that this tango thing might not be as difficult as he’d thought. That hope grew stronger and more confident—right up to the moment where Ramon shoved the work table over to one side of the room and showed him how to hold his “form.”
“Your hand goes here…”
A sick churning filled his gut.
“And your other hand holds mine—like this.” Ramon clasped his hand lightly. “Remember, you lead.”
A nudge. Wayne stepped back. Another. He stepped back again Ramon grinned. “Now you. Just lead me in two slow steps. That’s all. Two.”
If vomiting would have gotten him out of it, Wayne would have happily obliged. Instead, he nudged—a gentle shove, really—Ramon backward. Ramon nodded. “Gentle. Just a push—like riding a horse. You don’t dig your knee into the horse’s side. You just give a hint, right?”
“Never rode a horse,” Wayne admitted.
Once they’d made a few turns with two soft nudges, and a dozen corrections to form, Ramon said they could begin. He could only hope he didn’t sound like the whiny child he thought he did as he said, “I thought we did. What was that?”
“Preparation?”
Music began. “Shoulders erect. You hold yourself just a bit aloof at all times—even when you are close. Like this.”
If Wayne could have melted into a puddle and poured himself down the drain in the middle of his floor, he would have. “Look, I gotta admit. I’m not comfortable being this close to a man.”
“Right now, I am not the man. I am the woman—the one you love and hate.” He glowered at Wayne. “Dance. Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow…”
Not once since Lena had thrown him over had Wayne ached for her arrival more. Forget that, he mused. I’ve never wished she was here more. Never.
After a passable circuit around the workroom, Ramon stood back and stared.
Maybe he’ll decide I’m hopeless.
“You are not thinking of love and hate. You are thinking of steps. You cannot do that. Think!”
Music began again. “Jealousy,” of course. What else?
After four long days without him, a rushed job through her makeup, and the realization that she’d worn his favorite sweater with his favorite skirt, Magdalena Rojas was forced to confess that she’d missed Wayne. A glance at her speedometer told her that she’d pay for that admission if any of the local officers saw her coming.
Snow dancing through the sky in light, fluffy flakes also hinted that perhaps, if not for saving the cost of a ticket, safety might induce her to take her time. Wayne would be there, creating beautiful floral arrangements, and Ramon would be waiting for further instruction in the tango.
At the stop sign just heading out of her neighborhood, Lena glanced into the rearview mirror to check her lipstick. “If I did not know better, I would think he is looking for the excuse to spend time with me—that little boy. But he is not. This is not the way of Ramon Merino.”
The van sat in its usual place in the alley behind The Pettler. Trash tumbled in the wind that tunneled through the buildings and swirled the snowflakes around her as she stepped from the car. A wrapper, a plastic bag, a paper cup. People should throw away their garbage—not litter.
Strains of music wisped from the door. He is already practicing. Good boy. It took only a minute to snatch up the pieces of garbage and drop them in the great bin behind the building. As the lid banged shut, the music stopped. He will meet me at the door and talk. It wastes the little time we have. Very foolish.
Wayne stood at the large worktable, his face as red as the amaryllis and roses spread out before him. In fact, he seemed to be… was he? Perspiring! I should have been here to help—the extra flowers after the weekend.
“Good morning, Wayne. Did you have a nice trip? How is your mother?”
He stared at her as if he hadn’t actually watched her walk in. He had, of course—from the sides of his eyes, as if she wouldn’t know it. I’ve made him… what is the word? He’s… Try as she might, Lena couldn’t find it. And trying as she did, she missed most of what he said.
“—and Mom said to say hello.”
The words flew out before she could capture them. “I was sorry not to meet her.”
Wayne’s head snapped up, and he stared at her—almost glared at her. She saw his response as if his eyes were marquees with flashing lights. “You could have. You broke up, not me.”
The moment he blinked, it disappeared. Instead of reminding her of what a fool she’d been, he said, “Yeah, she’s still mad at me over that one.” He gave her a weak smile. “She almost sent me home to get you.”
“You didn’t tell her—that we…” Lena swallowed the rest of that sentence. “You didn’t tell her?”
“I thought I did, but I must have gotten interrupted or something.”
The words were inadequate, of course, but Lena had to say something. “I’m sorry, Wayne.”
In the weeks since he’d been dating Jennie, she hadn’t seen any sign he cared—that he’d ever cared, but all that dropped away for half a dozen seconds. He met her gaze and gave her a weak smile before whispering, “Yeah. Me, too.
With songs of chestnuts crooning in the background, a “blaze” in her electric fireplace, and virgin eggnog and sugar cookies to add a festive air to the moment, Wayne regaled Jennie with the flight story his mother had never asked for. “So, there we were on this plane, and no one even knew that the ‘emotional support’ dog was in the woman’s bag. I mean, it was completely silent. Take off. Turbulence—you name it. Didn’t hear a peep.”
He’d lost her already. Despite every effort to make the scene come alive… nothing. Even when he said, “Seriously, it was out of the blue! No warning at all! The dog just jumped out of the bag and raced down the aisle. When it didn’t find what it wanted, it darted in and out of people’s feet—tiny little Yorkie thing. People were screaming and swearing.”
“Oh, no!”
Finally. She responds. Must be tired. Wayne grinned and nudged the last cookie her way. “Eat up. So, yeah. It was insane. Turns out, the dog has a crazy thing for black licorice. This poor woman had walked down the aisle sucking on a licorice mint and then spat it out in the lavatory sink because she didn’t like it.”
“Poor dog.”
He grinned. “Yeah…that dog went everywhere trying to get it. But I’d say poor passengers—some of them were seriously ticked.”
“I saw an old black and white movie with a kind of similar scene once. The stewardess did it on that one. To make a little girl happy or something. It was fin
e until the dog went looking around and freaked out some lady.”
An awkward silence filled the room as Jennie toyed with her cookie star. She bit the points off to make a circle, but ate no more—just played. Wayne had planned to hint around about his plans for the ornament exchange but decided against it. Time for another story, I guess.
“Oh, and you missed my first tango lesson.”
Jennie gave him a droopy smile. “I did?”
“It was every bit as awkward as you predicted. There we were, sashaying around my workroom floor. I was supposed to be in pursuit of Ramon—and pushing him away at once. Do you know how hard that is?” At her shrug, he tried again. “Trying to force feelings you can’t and will never experience is a waste of time and energy. Just so you know.”
That caught her attention. Jennie sat up and leaned forward at the same time. “Wayne, I—”
“I’m supposed to lead with my hips. My hips. Do I even have those things? If you listen to Ramon, I do not. I have two lead feet. Not left. Lead.”
That got him a giggle—a giggle and a real smile. The first one of the night. “I wish I could have seen that.”
Wayne might have asked her to let him show her, but he could see it. She wasn’t into the date. Probably a long day at work or something. I’ll use my burgeoning headache as an excuse and go.
Once more, Jennie started to speak, but he rose and rubbed the back of his neck. “Mind if we call it a night. I think I have some kind of mini jet lag or something. Headache is coming. If I can head it off—pun intended, of course—and get to sleep, it’d be best.”
“Of course! We can talk later. Maybe after church on Wednesday?”
That’s better. Buoyed by her eagerness to see him again soon, Wayne kissed her cheek. That lasted him until he reached the door where he almost threw caution into the swirling snowflakes and kissed her. However, the headache really had intensified, and it would only get worse. “I hate to go so soon. Thanks for understanding.”
This time, Jennie kissed him—a soft, feathery brush intended for his cheek that landed at his jaw. Wayne’s heart raced at the subtle message it sent him.
As she closed the door, Jennie whispered, “Goodbye, Wayne.
Conviction, never palatable without the salt of God’s grace, did go down easier with Mary Poppins’ spoonful of sugar—or pecan pie, as it were. Barbara Farrell took another bite of pie, but that bite soured before it even hit her stomach. I should have called.
It was true. She should have, but even the thought of it drove her to her knees instead. First, she knelt metaphorically, of course, but when that didn’t settle her spirit, Barbara did the only thing she could think to do. She left the pie on the counter and shuffled off to the family room. There, in a little-used corner of the room sat an old recliner with a small lamp table beside it. Hank’s chair.
She knelt before it, elbows propped up on the seat, head in her hands. There she poured out her heart to the Lord. She’d made it just past asking forgiveness for her anger at Wayne and had just asked for wisdom in how to help him when the phone in her pocket rang. Barbara might have ignored it, but something prompted her to fish it out of her sweater pocket. The screen read, Emma Sheldon.
Wisdom would have to take a five-minute break.
“Emma! Good afternoon. How are you?” It felt as though she should say something else, but what eluded her.
“Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Farrell, but Mr. Farrell—I mean Wayne Farrell—ordered an ornament. It’s done, and I need to ship it, but he didn’t give me an address. He just ran out of Brooke’s shop and said to call you for it.”
The idea made no sense. “Wayne bought an ornament? Why? He doesn’t even put up a tree at home.”
“He said it was for a gift for his girlfriend. It’s an ‘our first Christmas’ ornament? But he had me put next year’s date on it. And he had me tie the engagement ring to it, too.” A rustling and mumbling followed. “Oh. It looks like I forgot to charge him for insurance on the ring. I probably should have done that.
While her mind worked through what that ring meant, Barbara assured Emma that she’d pay for the insurance. “Wayne’ll pay me back. Don’t worry about it.”
A moment of dead air followed. “Emma?”
“Yes?”
Barbara couldn’t help a smile. The girl had a few quirks, but she really was a dear. “Um, I just thought maybe we’d gotten disconnected.”
“No. I was waiting for Mr. Farrell’s address.”
Ever disciplined and to the point. Barbara opened her mouth to rattle off Wayne’s house number when it occurred to her that a package with that ring should not sit in his mailbox all day. “Let me get you the shop address. That would be safer, I think.”
Her knees creaked as she stood and the blood rushed into them. “I’ll just get my address book…”
Though Wayne and Lydia teased her about the old, green, half-falling-apart address book, she’d never get rid of it. She’d recorded the addresses and moves of friends and family for four decades in it. Every one of them told a story that no digital replacement could show. Lydia’s first boyfriend had been added by Lydia herself. As Barbara found and flipped through the book, she saw the blacked out box in permanent marker again—the result of a bad breakup at fifteen.
Barbara turned the page. “Found it.” However, scrawled at an angle beneath it, was Lena’s address. An idea formed. Wayne thought it perfectly okay to play with the flower deliveries… why not?
“I’m ready for it whenever you are.”
Resolve made slow, tentative steps forward. Doubt did a double quick step back. At Emma’s, “Mrs. Farrell?” Barbara made one, long, slow step forward again and plunged onward. “Better yet, we’re going to send it to his manager. She’ll make sure it doesn’t sit on the counter where anyone can walk off with it. So, send it to Lena Rojas, 116 Fir Street, Fairbury…”
Emma requested that she repeat the address. Twice. And as she did, Barbara grew nervous. Just as the girl started to disconnect, she shouted, “Emma!”
“Yes?”
“Please be sure to insure the ring for thirty-five hundred dollars. I’ll be over with the money to pay for it right away. Don’t forget.” The moment she said it, Barbara winced. How rude to imply that. She’s not twelve!
“I won’t. See you soon, Mrs. Farrell.”
A smile formed as the phone went dead. Barbara stared at it for a moment before pocketing it. “I should have known Emma wouldn’t take offense. It’s too bad she hasn’t found someone who appreciates her for the catch she is.”
Her cravings ordered her to the kitchen to finish that pie. Her conscience sent her back to the chair. For once, her conscience won. Score one for maturity.
A text message that read Answer. I’m not going to yell at you, preceded his mother’s call that evening. Wayne sat in his bathtub, soaking a stiff and unhappy ankle and waiting for the quiet attack. Yes, if she said she wouldn’t yell, his mother would not.
Few women outside the South possessed the unique skill of being able to blast a person with just a few kind words. Barbara Farrell, however, was one who could.
The phone rang. Wayne hit the connect button and put it on speakerphone. “Hey, Ma.”
“I called to apologize.”
Uh oh.
As he squirmed and tried not to make any splashing noises, Mom went on. “You spoke truth, Wayne. I did show more outward concern for Lena. I have my reasons for that, of course, but I didn’t communicate how concerned I was for you. I’m really very sorry. Please forgive me.”
Aaand… there it is. Forgive her. Like I can say no even if I want to.
“Wayne?”
“Of course, I forgive you, Ma. I owe you an apology for yelling like that. I took my hurt with Lena out on you.” Wayne’s jaw clenched as he pushed aside his pride and added, “I hope you’ll forgive me, too.”
Her reply came soft, quiet, and with the force of a steel 2x4. “Do you hear yourself? Your
hurt? With Lena? If you were over her, she would not continue to hurt you like that—not like that.”
“Mom!”
“You brought it up, son. I am showing true love by saying what needs to be said rather than what you want to hear. Now, how were sales while you were gone?”
Those last half dozen or so words closed the subject as far as his mother was concerned. They were her way of saying, “I love you, and if you’re too stupid to see that I’m right, well, I still love you, even if you are an idiot.”
Wayne skipped the sales discussion and dove into the description of the six lessons he’d endured since his arrival home. “I’m terrible, Ma. I mean… this is bad. There’s no way Lena will win anything with me in the picture, and now tomorrow, we have to go to some store in Rockland to pick out real dance shoes…”
He winced as if the words hurt as much to say as they had to hear. “And clothes. Ramon promises no sparkles, but the pants! Ma, they have spandex in them. Your son is going to parade around in front of people wearing spandex. I thought you taught me better than that.”
“Will it really bless Lena?”
That’s a low blow. Wayne made murmuring affirmative sounds and continued his rant, citing the horrors of unbuttoned shirts and no undershirts. That would stir his mother to indignation. “He said not even black!”
“It won’t kill you for one night.”
“I give up. You are on their side.” Once more a wince formed as the sound of the words hit home. You sound eight—at the oldest.
His mother’s laughter filled the bathroom. “I’m on the side of right. And it’s right that you help someone you claim is your friend. Now don’t forget to wash behind your ears. Good ni—”
Wayne broke in before she could go. “How did you possibly know I’m in the bath? My ankle is killing me, by the way. I didn’t splash once.”
“Mothers know, Wayne. They know.”
He waited.
